Neatly Notated
by OhFortuna
Summary: Christine is a junior in college, and her life has been fairly ordinary, until events begin to unfold that cause her life to become more and more chaotic, and she begins to realize that not everything can be neatly notated.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"I want you to look at some Duparc, Christine, and select three or four pieces that you like, and we'll talk about them for your voice jury at the end of the term," Dr. Kirk said, handing Christine her repertoire binder. "Your classical repertoire is impressive, but it never hurts to have a little more."

"Of course," Christine said with a smile, tucking the binder into her satchel. She was never opposed to learning more music; it was her life, after all. Ever since she was little, all she had wanted to do was sing. Coming from a musical family, her pursuit of the art had been encouraged whole-heartedly by her parents. Her father had played the violin, and quite well, too. He had never sought to make a living form his talent, though, saying that it would "take the enjoyment out of playing, because then you have to hold yourself to a standard and are no longer allowed to be imperfect when playing."

When she was younger, Christine hadn't really understood, and so had not questioned, her father's thoughts on the matter. After he had died, and she was older, she wondered why he thought that; she hadn't thought to ask while he was still living, but now she wondered, because performing was what she enjoyed most. Her father had died when Christine was only 15, almost five years ago to the day. The anniversary was always hard for Christine, and for her mother, too.

Christine's mother, Amanda Daaé, was the owner of a successful publishing company. Amanda and Gustave had met while Christine's mother was vacationing in Paris. Theirs was a whirlwind romance, and they had lived out the first nine years of Christine's life in France. When she had been ten, they had moved to New York for her mother's business. In the last couple of years of her father's life, her parents had been having some marital problems. Christine knew that Amanda felt guilty after he died.

Christine didn't see much of her mother anymore, as she worked almost seventy hours a week, and Christine herself was in her third year of college. It wasn't all that difficult to go without seeing her; Amanda had never been a very motherly or maternal figure, and had only really expressed interest in Christine's musical pursuits.

"You have a very nice Spinto soprano voice," Dr. Kirk said, pulling her out of her thoughts. "I'll see you next Friday at one o' clock."

"Yes, ma'am," Christine said, slinging her bag on to her shoulder and heading for the door. "Thanks again!" Dr. Kirk said something in reply, but Christine didn't hear it, as the door to the office had already been shut, and she was on her way. She had about she glanced at her watch three minutes to get to her last class of the day, which was an upperclassman Music History course. It was a two hour class, and she had done the reading ahead of time, but it was at least a five minute walk from the office she was just leaving. She would be late.

The campus was beautiful, but right at that moment Christine wished it was a little more compact. She cinched her messenger bag tightly and made sure it was buckled before she took off towards her class at a jog. Late was not something that Christine did. It was syllabus day, but she still wanted to make a good impression. The new professor who taught the history course was also the new head of composition in the music department.

Christine pushed open a back door into the music hall and slowed her pace to a brisk walk. She checked her watch again - 1:59. She could see the classroom door about thirty feet ahead on her left and just as she was about to rush through it, the professor was in the doorway and was closing the door.

So naturally Christine crashed into him.

"I am so, so sorry," she said, feeling herself turn bright pink. She did her best to hide behind her thick curtain of hair. This was not the impression she had been hoping to make. She glanced at him with embarrassment before quickly scanning the small classroom for an empty seat. There was only one at the front, and Christine briefly remembered that she had been the last to register for the class, and had taken the only remaining spot. And since it was the first day, every one was present.

Christine sunk into her seat and let her bag slouch against her chair. She silently took out a pencil and black notepad as the professor took attendance.

"I'm Dr. Destler, and will be addressed as such. I know some professors are more informal, but it's my belief that a certain boundary should be set between the pupil and the teacher. However, that doesn't mean that I'll be intimidating."

Christine glanced up at him then, finally recovering from her embarrassment. She was mildly surprised to find that he was wearing a close fitting porcelain mask on the right side of his face. She wondered at it briefly for a moment. He was by far the youngest professor in the department, looking to be in his early thirties or so, and, aside from the mask, was quite handsome.

"Daaé, Christine," Dr. Destler said, looking up briefly from his list.

"That's me," Christine said, nodding slightly and meeting his eyes for a moment.

"Ah, the late girl. Giry, Megara." Destler continued on as if his comment had never happened. A freckled blonde sitting kitty-corner to Christine raised her hand and confirmed her presence.

Roll went on for another several minutes as each student waited for his or her name to be called.

"Excellent. Each of you is here today, and hopefully will be here for every upcoming class. If, for some reason you cannot attend, I expect to be notified in some form or another before the class period begins. That means you may email me, call my office, or write a note if need be, so long as it is either received or time stamped before the beginning of the class. If that is not done, it will affect your grade."

Christine read the syllabus as the professor went through it for another hour in detail. He released them for a short period of time for a restroom break. During that time, the Giry girl approached Christine.

"I'm Meg," she said, extended her hand in a friendly manner. Her high ponytail bounced when she talked, Christine noticed.

Christine introduced herself and Meg plopped into the seat next to Christine, which was currently empty.

"I haven't seen you around the department before," Christine said conversationally. "Did you transfer?" It wasn't uncommon for students to transfer from community colleges, Christine knew. She hadn't done it herself, but some of her friends from high school were doing that this year, she knew.

"Nope, I'm actually a dance major, but I just switched my minor to music, so that's probably why you haven't seen me," Meg said. "I just kind of thought it would be fun to understand what's happening while I'm dancing. I'm actually really lucky I got into this class in the first place. I love history, and it counts towards my minor, so I figured why not?"

Christine listened to Meg ramble for the remainder of their short break, and then Dr. Destler cleared his throat and the students shuffled back to their chosen seats. The control that man had over the classroom was uncanny, Christine thought.

"Now that the syllabus has been covered, let's move on to some course material. I trust everyone has done the assigned reading for this class?" He looked up from the required textbook for the class expectantly, and there were mixed murmurs of assent and dissent from the students. "From now on you will come to class prepared, as you will be expected to participate in this class. This isn't some silly lecture where you can take a nap or fiddle around on your phone," he said, with a pointed look to a student somewhere in the back. Christine, at least, had the decency not to turn around and see which student he was directing that comment at. Others were not so polite.

"For those of you who did do the reading, what can you tell me about pre-renaissance era music?" Christine liked the way he said 'era', with a long 'e'. Christine, of course, knew several things, but she knew she should only really say one, so she raised her hand.

"It was notated differently," she offered, putting her hand down.

"A good beginning, Christine, but elaborate," Destler said, leaning against the back of the desk and crossing his arms.

"Well, it was notated such that we don't really know exactly how it sounded. we can make our best guess, but whether it's accurate or not isn't known. But the actual notation itself was different because early, pre-renaissance Europe didn't really write its music down. So anything that we have that's that old is really just chance. Early Greece notated some of its music, but again, we don't really know exactly how it sounded just because the way we notate now is so different, coupled with the fact that early musicians didn't exactly have recording devices," Christine said, and someone in the room sniggered. Her thoughts hadn't been particularly well organized, but she felt she had gotten her point across.

"Thank you," Destler said, nodding his head a little. "Does anyone have anything to add to that?" The room was silent. "Very well, then."

Dr. Destler went on to explain what music was like pre-renaissance, and read a few passages from the textbook. Christine took detailed notes, as it seemed Dr. Destler had even more detailed and relevant information than the book did. Soon enough the class ended, and Christine was slipping her notebook into her bag when she was called up.

"Miss Daaé, a word?"

She picked up her bag and went over to the desk, where Dr. Destler was packing up his things, as well. "Yes, Dr. Destler?"

"You were very nearly late today, Christine," he said, looking at her and picking his own bag up. "Walk with me," he said, and Christine did so. This was her last class of the day, so she didn't see the harm in it.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Destler. My lesson ran longer than expected, and-" He held up a hand to stop her.

"You don't have to apologize, Christine. You seem like the type of girl who takes her classes seriously. You did come prepared, after all." He seemed pleased by the fact, Christine noticed.

"I do take my classes seriously," Christine agreed, and murmured a thank you as he opened the door to his office for her. "I didn't come here to bandy about like an idiot," she said, mostly to herself. She was managing two jobs and still pulling a 3.7 GPA, and Christine felt she should be proud of herself for that.

Dr. Destler raised an eyebrow at her comment, but said nothing in response. "I assume you're a music major, since you're taking my class, but what year are you and what's your focus?" He sat down behind his desk and gestured for her to take a seat in one of the empty chairs. He rubbed his mask absently, as if he had forgotten it was even there. Christine supposed he probably had, because to have a mask that fit so well implied living with a condition for a good long while.

"This is my third year as a student, and my focus is classical vocal performance," Christine said. She had answered many variations of that question since her freshman year, and it was automatic now. She was also prepared to answer the question "What will you do with it?" should it be asked, though she didn't expect it from a music professor. After all, his own career depended on her aspirations.

"Classical voice?" Destler seemed to think for a moment before he continued. "A worthy genre, of course, though certainly not as popular as it once was."

"Well, it's what suits my voice, and it's challenging, and I like that," Christine said, crossing one leg over the other. "If you don't mind, what am I doing here?"

"Ah!" Destler voiced, resting his eyes on her for a moment. Christine squirmed slightly under his gaze. "I'm glad you reminded me. I'm your current academic advisor. Since I'm a new faculty member, I was given mostly freshmen, and a few of the former faculty members' charges. Obviously, it's not entirely fitting since I'm not a voice teacher, but I recognized your name on my list earlier, so I thought it best to acquaint myself with those under my care. Of course, you are free to switch advisors if you feel so inclined," he said, leaving his sentence open, should Christine wish to confirm.

"I mean, as long as you know what you're doing I don't see why you can't be my advisor," Christine said, shrugging a little.

"Very well," Destler said, nodding a little. "That will be all, then, Christine." His tone and body language were dismissive, and Christine stood, grabbed her bag and left without another word.

She glanced at her watch, and noticed it was about 4:15, so Christine decided she might as well go to the gym before she headed back to her apartment.

"Hey, Christine!" someone called off to her right, and Christine turned without stopping to see who was trying to get her attention. It was Meg. She quickly caught up with Christine, with her ponytail bouncing. "What did Destler want?"

"I guess he just wanted to meet me because he's my advisor," she said nonchalantly. "Not a big deal."

"Did he say anything about his mask?" Ah, there it was. The real reason behind Meg's conversation. At least she didn't beat around the bush.

"Not a thing," Christine said. It was true. And frankly Christine didn't really care about the mask. She wasn't all that interested in professor's personal lives, or their potentially tragic backstories. She was inclined to agree with Dr. Destler - there should be boundaries between students and faculty.

"Oh. There are some rumors going around about it, what with him being new and all, but I thought maybe you could shed some light on the situation. You're the only one I know who's spoken to him outside of the classes and lessons he teaches."

"Yeah, no, he didn't say anything."

Meg departed shortly after that, making a little effort at small talk until they were outside the doors of the college gym. Christine was slightly relieved to see her go. Meg was a little much to handle all at once.

The gym was mostly empty, save for a few people dotted here or there. Christine made her way over to the squat station and grimaced a little bit. She hated squats, she was more of a jogger, but she also didn't want to have a flat butt, so it was the lesser of two evils, really. She had barely gotten through a set when she was approached by a young man who looked friendly.

"Do you mind if I give you a few tips?" he asked, flashing her a friendly smile.

"Um, sure, why not?" Christine said. She mostly liked being left alone at the gym, but she also knew that if her form wasn't right she could hurt herself, and this guy at least looked like he knew what he was doing.

"Make sure you keep your back straight and your feet about six inches further apart than you've got them," he said, watching her make the necessary adjustments. Christine did a couple of test, and she found it used more of her leg muscles than previously, and it was easier to breathe, but it was harder, too.

"Yeah, like that," the stranger said, nodding with approval.

"So are you an exercise science major, then? Or just an enthusiast?" Christine asked, standing herself upright. He was still a good deal taller than she was, probably about six or seven inches, and well built.

"I'm getting my Masters in it, yeah. I manage a gym downtown when I'm not in class, so I'm not just some wannabe gym rat."

"If you manage a gym downtown, you're here because..?" Christine raised an eyebrow and reached for her water bottle.

"It's just a discounted membership for employees, not complimentary. So here I am." He laughed and started setting up a nearby weight rack. "I'm Raoul."

"Christine."

"I knew a girl named Christine once. It was a long time ago, and in France, but I remember going into the ocean to get a scarf, of all the stupid things. The girl was absolutely distraught over it, saying it was a gift from her father. I caught pneumonia because the water was so cold," he laughed, shaking his head before continuing. " But we were friends for a couple of years after that, and then her family moved."

Christine nearly choked on her water. "That was me."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Thanks for stopping in," Christine said, with a small amount of false cheer. Those particular patrons had been rude about selection of books available and the service she provided. Christine worked at a local secondhand bookstore, and it was an out of the way place tucked in between a hipster coffee bar and bakery called "The Croissant Moon" and an apartment complex where Christine lived in number 209.

Christine watched the neon red-and-blue 'open' sign flicker a little bit. This wasn't the nicest part of town, and anytime the weather got nasty, it was questionable if the power would stay on or not. It was surprisingly stormy out for September, and the front door rattled a little each time there was a gust of wind.

Christine puttered around for the remainder of her shift, tucking books back onto shelves here and there. Soon enough her shift ended, and she flipped off the lights and locked up the store behind her. On nights like tonight, Christine was glad that she lived so close to her job, and campus. She mistrusted the dark enough already, and the bad weather only made it worse.

She hurriedly entered in the keycode to let herself into the building, and shut it behind herself firmly before making her way up the wet staircase. The overhang provided little relief from the wind or the rain, so Christine was practically pushed up against the walls in an effort to remain dry.

Once inside her apartment, Christine kicked off her shoes and set her bag down by the kitchen table. She took her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans and went to turn on some music, but was surprised to find that she had a new voicemail. She put the phone up to her hear to listen to it.

"Hey, Christine, it's Mom. Um, it's been a while since we've talked, so I thought I'd give you a call. Call me when you get this."

Christine pulled the phone away and squinted at it. Her mother never called unless she wanted something, or - no, that was pretty much it. She sighed. The call would be made after she had made herself a bowl of soup. She took a can out of the cabinet and opened it before pouring it into a bowl. She was just about to pop it into the microwave when her phone rang. 'Mother Dearest', her screen glowed, and Christine answered it, simultaneously placing her dinner in.

"Hey, Mom, what's up?" Christine asked, noticing she had gotten some broth on her thumb. She sucked on her thumb and wiped it on her jeans while listening to her mother.

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I, Christine?" Her mother sounded nervous. What was going on.

"Nope, just making some soup and I'm getting ready to do some homework. What's wrong? You sound nervous."

"Oh, nothing. Nothing." Christine could hear her take a big breath on the other end of the line. "I'm engaged."

Christine didn't know how to respond. The microwave beeped in the background, but it was ignored. She should say something. She should be happy for her mother.

"...Oh. That's great, Mom." Her voice was monotonous in her own ears, and she cringed. Her mother was obviously nervous enough as it is. "I'm really happy for you!" That was better.

The other end was silent, too. This was awkward.

"Do you want me to come home next weekend?"

"Sure, that would be great. Dom's been wanting to meet you for some time now, I just.." the sentence trailed off.

"It's okay, Mom. I'm happy for you, really. You deserve it." Christine smiled. "I'll see you next weekend."

Christine was completely distracted the next day in class, and it showed. Even Meg noticed.

"Hey, Christine, you okay?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Just got a lot going on, is all." She shrugged and twiddled her pencil between her fingers while she waited for class to start. She had decided to sit in exactly the same spot as last history class, and Meg had placed herself right next to her. Meg's hair was in a ponytail again, lower today.

"Okay, well, after class I'll take you out to coffee and you can tell me about it." Meg placed a hand over Christine's to stop her fiddling, and Christine looked at the freckled girl with surprise.

"That would actually be great, thank you," Christine said smiling a little.

At that moment, Dr. Destler strode into class and wasted no time in jumping right in. Christine observed mostly, and took extensive notes.

"Miss Daaé, can you tell me who Guillaume de Machaut was?"

Christine's eyes snapped up at him and she paused for a moment. "He was an medieval poet and composer. Important to both, so much so that you could learn about one of his accomplishments with the other never having even been mentioned," she said, summing up what the textbook had said in the most basic sense.

Dr. Destler looked at her for a moment. "Well, yes," he agreed. "He was a fourteenth century composer and poet..."

Christine only half listened to what was being said, but there was only thirty minutes left in the class, so she wouldn't miss anything important, if she missed anything at all.

Immediately after class was out, Meg grabbed Christine's hand and drug her out of the room. It was all Christine could do to grab her book bag. She could have sworn that she saw Dr. Destler watching her, but she must have been mistaken.

Meg and Christine walked in relative silence until they made it to a café that Christine would have never set foot in, but it seemed like it was Meg's scene. It was crisp and clean, and a little preppy, she thought. She felt a little out of place, but it helped that Meg had brought her, and she seemed to fit in.

"Grab a table, and I'll order our drinks. You like mochas, right?" Christine nodded affirmation and found an empty table off to the side and sat down in it. She twiddled her thumbs nervously when Meg came and sat across from her.

"Spill," her new friend commanded, and Christine did. She told Meg about her mother, and about Raoul, too. Meg was quiet, except to thank the barista who set their coffee down on the table.

"Okay. So. Wait. You mean Raoul DeChagny? Arguably the most talented tennis player this college has had in over a decade?" Meg asked, attempting to find her straw with her mouth while not breaking eye contact with Christine.

"Uh, yeah," Christine said, watching with amusement. "At least, I assume so. I haven't exactly been around this college for that long, so I can't say for sure."

"I can. My mother has taught ballet here for the past 15 years or so, and hasn't missed a home match, except once in the early 2000's because she was so sick she couldn't think straight. It's one of her greatest regrets," Meg giggled. "So having grown up around my mother, I developed an appreciation for the game."

"I see," Christine nodded. "All right, I should probably go. I'm meeting Mr. Tennis Player for a match in a half hour, and now I'm regretting it."

They both laughed, and Christine picked up her bag and headed down the street towards the tennis courts. The sky had cleared nicely since last night's storm, and everything smelled of rain and maple leaves. Even as she made her own way down the sidewalk, she watched other students mingle amongst themselves, milling about in their own lives. It always amazed Christine that everyone's lives were just as complex and busy as her own. Just as interesting, just as-

"Hey, Christine!" Raoul shouted, waving her down from inside one of the courts. "I've already gotten you a racket, just get changed and meet me out here!"

Christine shouted back acknowledgement and changed, stretching a little as she was walking back to Raoul.

"You didn't tell me you were an excellent tennis player," Christine accused playfully, walking up to him and snatching the racket from him, grinning.

"You weren't supposed to find out!" Raoul said, jogging to the other side of the court. He bounced the tennis ball a couple of times to test it out before serving.

"I always find out things I'm not supposed to!" Christine returned the ball back to him neatly, though she soon discovered she was woefully outmatched, and their match was over shortly.

"Do you want to grab coffee after we clean up?" Raoul asked, tucking his racket into a sleeve and zipping it quickly.

"I can't," Christine declined with a grimace. "I've got to study for my history class."

"History? Who with?" Christine couldn't tell if he was actually interested or if he was just making polite conversation to keep her around longer. She answered anyway.

"Dr. Erik Destler. He's new here this year, and he packs a lot into one class period," she explained, unscrewing her water bottle impatiently. She took a swig and glanced at her companion.

"That name sounds vaguely familiar." Raoul tapped his chin dramatically. "Oh, I remember now. I was in Europe a couple of summers back, and my girlfriend at the time dragged me to an opera in Paris. I think the lead tenor shared his name. Maybe they're the same guy. I could be wrong, of course."

"Huh. I'll look into it," Christine promised, "And get back to you."

And Christine did, as soon as she got home. She flipped open her laptop, opened her internet browser of choice, and googled her professor. There were quite a number of show reviews, and Christine clicked on a couple. Each of them spoke of the genius of the tenor, Erik Destler, and while Christine was intrigued, she needed some visual solidification. So she went under the image search, and sure enough, there on her screen was her professor.

So that was that. However, upon closer inspection, Christine noticed that Dr. Destler didn't appear to have his mask in any of the photos. She dug deeper, and couldn't find any explanation for the mask's sudden appearance. She found it more than a little strange that an obviously successful performer would come and teach at some run-of-the-mill, po-dunk college. But who was she to judge?

Her phone dinged at her, and she picked it up to read the email, only half paying attention. 'edestler '. Wait. What? Christine's eyes snapped to her screen and gave it her full attention. She read the email over once, twice, thrice.

Nope. This was ridiculous. A successful opera singer was her professor, and now he wanted to meet with her after class, for reasons unknown?

Christine had too much going on in her life right now.


End file.
